


Split Me Wide Open

by weepingnaiad



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Community: jim_and_bones, DADT Repeal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern day AU.  Jim’s an Air Force pilot and Bones is an Air Force doctor.  The repeal of DADT doesn’t turn out to be the happily ever after Jim had hoped for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Split Me Wide Open

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** the amazing abigail89. Thank you, dearest!  
>  **Disclaimer:** I borrowed Roddenberry’s characters used them in the spirit of transformative works and mean no infringement of any kind. I promise to return them with smiles on.  
>  **A/N:** This was inspired by [these pictures](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/482791.html) over at LJ comm, jim_and_bones. The pictures are SFW, but you’ll have to join to see them. They inspired angst because even though DADT is history, discrimination is not.

Jim’s on top of the world. It’s a beautiful, warm day, like summer back home in Iowa, but it’s fall and the sky’s cloudless in that perfect shade of blue. The one that Bones calls ‘brat blue’ – the color of Jim’s eyes just before he’s about to make a wisecrack or drag Bones into some fool-headed antic. Jim can’t see it, but it matches his mood, when he’s happy and Bones is close.

He steps from his CO’s office, patting the papers in his uniform jacket pocket. He’s actually a little bit amazed that today has happened; a perfect confluence of events. And it’s _real._

He’s finally been cleared for active duty again. He’s shipping out to the theater in three weeks. His fingers are already itching to be back at the controls. It feels like forever since he’s done anything but time in the simulator. He’s daydreaming as he walks, his thoughts chaotic and random, but it works for Jim, fuels his instincts and keeps him flying.

As he turns a corner toward the parking lot, he’s confronted with an airman laying it on a hot civilian in a t-shirt. Jim stops short, glancing hastily around for witnesses. It takes balls and a deathwish, he thinks, to snog in public on an airbase in Oklahoma, even if DADT is history as of today. This _is_ the heart of the Bible belt, more rednecks with gunracks than cattle, where homophobia is preached from the pulpit, and authorities turn a blind eye to discrimination and even outright violence against gays.

Jim gives a sharp whistle, making the men jump apart. They’re flushed, happy, and he can’t help smiling, but still bites out a sharp, “Get a room, soldier.”

“Yes, Sir!” The airman salutes, barely waiting for Jim’s answering one before they’re off, racing away.  
Their joy is infectious, buoying Jim’s already ebullient spirits. He’s in a hurry now, heart racing. He might be itching to be back in the sky, but first there’s something even more important he needs to do.

~~*~~

Jim bursts through Bones’ door, not bothering to knock. “Bones!” he shouts as he drops the helmet to the floor, backpack on the sofa as he passes, and only stops his excited rush when Bones doesn’t reply.

Thinking he’s in the shower, Jim doesn’t hesitate and continues further into the small apartment. The bathroom’s dark and Jim’s steps slow. He smiles and moves on to the bedroom, fully expecting Bones to be sprawled on the bed, naked.

It doesn’t happen often, but Bones has surprised him a couple of times and the sex is awesome! His imagination in overdrive, he steps into the bedroom, fingers already reaching for his buttons. But Bones isn’t on the crisply made bed. He’s sitting behind his desk, face in his hands, an open bottle of bourbon at his elbow.

That sight pulls Jim up short, smile flagging. Bones is on midnights and, even if he has hours until his shift, he never drinks before work; wouldn’t start this early in any event.

Jim’s at Bones’ side, urging him to look up with a gentle hand on his cheek. “Hey.”

Bones shudders, leans into the touch, one hand covering Jim’s, but he doesn’t speak and he doesn’t look at Jim.

Jim’s instincts are screaming now. He’s known Bones too long; they’ve been through too much together, and this is completely unlike his best friend and lover. “C’mon, Bones. Talk to me,” he cajoles. “You know you feel better if you get it out.”

Bones shakes his head. “Ain’t no feelin’ better ‘bout this, kid.” His accent is thick, voice low and rough. And Jim’s truly worried now. This is bad.

Before Jim can say anything, Bones turns the laptop, tilting the screen so Jim can read the e-mail there. It’s from Jocelyn, Jim’s expecting her usual bitter diatribe, hoping that there hasn’t been bad news about Jo-Jo, but he begins to read.

“So, Joce’s a bitch. That’s nothing new, Bones.” Jim’s trying to keep calm, ignore that unsettled feeling that started in his gut, but has spread to the base of his spine.

Bones is shaking his head. He still isn’t looking at Jim.

“Jim,” he says, voice rough with anguish. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” Jim swallows, tries to act casual as he leans against the desk, but his knuckles are white from gripping it so hard and he’s not certain that the desk can take the strain.

“I’ve been thinking…”

Bones’ words are halting and his eyes -- those damned expressive eyes of his – they’re shot through with gold and green, pupils small, purple slashes under his eyelids making them even more vivid. They only look just like this when Bones is aching and sore, too worried for Jim to shout at him. It was only nine weeks ago Jim had woken up in hospital with Bones looking just like this, probably worse for the wear, stubble longer, eyes blood shot, but Jim only remembers that haunted look in Bones’ eyes and it’s the same look he’s got now.

“Don’t. Bones, don’t,” he pleads. “This is just Joce doing her usual. She’s always trying to hurt you.”

“Jim, just… let me get this out. It’s not Joce’s note. That was just a warning shot across the bow. It’s about us… you and me.”

Jim’s stomach churns, but he holds Bones’ gaze until he looks away.

“I can’t do it. I’m not coming out.”

Jim sucks in a few panting breaths. This, _this_ he can handle. “Okay. We can work with that.” He’s proud that his voice sounds calm enough to his own ears.

Bones makes a frustrated noise and scrabbles a hand through his hair. He pushes away from the desk and out of the chair, every line of his body tense, radiating hurt.

“Dammit, Jim! It’s not that simple! If I do _anything,_ I’ll get the full salvo – hauled into court and my ass handed to me… again. DADT might be history, but this is her reminder, to keep me in line. My career might be safe if I come out, but my custody agreement isn’t.”

Jim has met Jocelyn Darnell Treadway and he’ll never forget her. Calculating and shrewd. Cold as all hell. Bones knows what his ex is capable of and has the scars to prove it. “So you don’t come out. It won’t be different than it has been.” He ignores the way his mouth goes dry when he says that, the way the paper in his pocket is suddenly heavy with ashen dreams.

Bones turns to look at Jim and the blank expression he’s wearing is unnerving, as though his face is carved of warm marble instead of living flesh. “Bones?”

“Jim, just… I’m sorry.” His voice breaks and the mask slips, his eyes so full of pain that Jim can’t bear it and lifts his eyes, looks out the window.

“It’s okay. We can wait. Jo’ll be thirteen in a couple of years…”

“No, Jim.”

“No?”

“I can’t. Not until Jo’s eighteen. I can’t risk it.”

Jim can’t get his breath, but he’s nodding, words spilling from his lips. He’s not even sure what he’s saying. Seven years is not so long…

“Jim, I can’t – I won’t ask that of you. And…”

Bones stops speaking and Jim fills with dread.

“I can’t do this… _us_ anymore.”

Jim can’t believe he heard right. He shakes his head and looks at Bones. “What did you say?”

Bones takes a deep breath and finally looks at Jim, meets his gaze full-on, unflinchingly. “We have to be done, Jim. I can’t do it anymore. Can’t bear the fear, the knowledge that you nearly died and I found out about it from the goddamned news!”

Jim reels, too shocked to say anything, barely hears Bones continuing.

“--holding you back and you… you deserve better—”

“I don’t want better, dammit! I want you!” he shouts, still clinging to the belief that this is just an impulsive, stupid, noble idea that has lodged in Bones’ brain and he’ll be able to talk him out of it.

He reaches for Bones, trips on the laptop’s power cord as he’s moving forward. His mind’s scrambling for something to say, some words to convince Bones that it doesn’t have to end. They’re discreet; have been ever since Jim finally wormed his way into Bones’ bed while Jim was at the Academy. They could keep it up.

“I have to let you go, darlin’. It’s for the best.”

Jim stops. He’s close enough to see each individual lash on Bones’ eyes, near enough to feel the heat and tension thrumming through and radiating off Bones. His eyes have shattered, broken bits of gold amid dun brown. Bones is determined to do this. He’s sending Jim packing for Jim’s own good.

Fury pulses through Jim alongside the despair. He snarls, “You don’t get to decide that. Not for me, dammit!”

“You know I’m right! The ink’s not even dry on the order rescinding DADT and you’ve already got papers in your jacket!” Bones voice cracks and wavers. He’s trying not to rile at the anger flashing through Jim. He’s barely succeeding.

“Of course, I have the goddamned papers! I love you! I ship out in three weeks and I wanted to go knowing that you were here, in our _home,_ officially. That you’d be the first they called. What’s wrong with that?”

Bones gasps, sucks in a harsh breath, his chest quaking. “Nothing, Jim. It just proves my point and why it’s over. I have to be straight for the next seven years and you, you need to fly. You need the chance to find a partner who can be there for you, listed on your documents, walk at your side in public. You deserve it all, Jim. And I’m not going to keep you from getting it.”

“Thought I had it all, Bones,” he replies. His lungs are working double-time and he’s getting light-headed, but he’s kept his temper, barely. Fists clenching at his side, he growls. “So that’s it. It’s over. You decide unilaterally. I get no say?”

He takes a deep breath in, trying to keep it together as Bones gives a sharp little nod then ducks his head, looking away. Jim marvels at him for a minute, traces that profile, his finger hovering in mid-air over full lips and he flushes hotly. He can’t be in the same room as Bones, not right now.

“You fuckin’ coward!” he hisses, then he’s reversing his steps, flinging the door wide and rushing out of the small apartment. He practically bowls over Gary Mitchell before he stops, gasping, bent over, palms on his knees trying not to be sick.

“Jim? You okay, man?”

Jim can hear Bones following him, but Mitchell’s here. Bones won’t say anything. Jim straightens as the anger flips instantly. He’s no longer white hot with pulsing fury. He’s gone cold. He gives Mitchell a lascivious smile. “I am now, Gary. That offer for a drink still open?” He’s crowding Gary, herding him toward his door, brackets his face with his forearms when his back hits the door.

Gary’s eyes have gone dark and he can’t stop staring at Jim’s lips, just nods, hand reaching for the door knob.

“Let’s go then. Seems like we have a lot to be thankful for today.”

Jim kisses Gary as they push through his door. He hears the quiet snick of a door being closed behind him. He buries himself in Gary and tries to blunt the pain with tequila. It doesn’t work.

~~*~~

Len forces himself to close the door and turn away even as possessive fire burns through him. He no longer has the right, basically pushed Jim into Mitchell’s arms. He curses Jocelyn and himself and the bourbon doesn’t take away the sting.

He knows he deserves this hell of his own making, but he couldn’t have dreamed just how much of Jim there is in his life -- everywhere. Whether the man himself is physically present or not, his essence, his very being lingers. Len can’t even walk to the commissary without being reminded of Jim. He’d literally suffused Len’s life. And now that life is desolate and empty. Len’s flipped the Wizard of Oz on its head and gone from Technicolor to B&W, but his Kansas isn’t filled with family, he doesn’t even have a To-To to care whether he comes home or not.

And many nights he doesn’t bother. It’s easier that way and there’s no shortage of willing females. If he has to be more drunk than sober, not a one seems to care. They see the uniform or learn he’s a doctor and they’re quite agreeable. The first time he fucks one in the ass, he realizes his mistake and never does it again.

The casual sex doesn’t ease the pain or the loneliness and it sure as hell doesn’t help when Jim’s name keeps coming up. It’s just like Jim to make a grand gesture and he’d first come out to his squadron, then did it again on local television, like he’s daring the world to say a damned thing. If Len watches the whole circus then drinks himself into a stupor, there’s no one around to know.

Jocelyn e-mails almost immediately and Len concocts some non-committal drivel which Joce parses with her keen advocate eye and fires back that she’s sure he’s as surprised as she is and he’s better off without that ‘homo’ hanging around. _’People would talk, Leonard.’_ It makes him sick, but he doesn’t argue.

Jim’s acting out and getting into trouble, but so far Len’s not been his attending physician, hasn’t even been on shift, which is surprising with as many hours as Len spends at the hospital and clinic, but Len hears everything. Jim probably knows his schedule and holds off coming in until Len’s not around. That thought pisses him off because Jim _would_ ignore his own health just from sheer cussed pride.

Len’s jaw clenches and the staff quickly disappear, leaving him alone. Two weeks gone, a lifetime to go…

~~*~~

“Major?”

Len groans and turns from his locker. He knows that tone, is already tensing for some crisis. “Yes, Lieutenant?” He closes the locker and crosses his arms over his chest. It’s already two hours past his shift end. He’s beat and wants to collapse so he’s not going to make this easy. On anyone.

“Colonel Boyce sent for you.” Len straightens. No matter what the flyboys think, the Medical Corps is as much Air Force as the rest of them.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“We got a motorcycle accident coming in. M’Benga’s arms deep in delivering a baby and Puri’s buried in receiving with that stomach flu. The colonel would handle it himself, but he’s got his own troubles.”

They’re already bustling down the corridors to the ER and Len quirks his lips at Chapel’s smile. “Trouble?”

She snickers. “Brigadier General Fitzhugh.”

Len lifts an eyebrow urging her to keep going. Fitzhugh’s an asshat of the highest order and this should be good.

“Seems he had a bad round of golf. Lost his shirt to Rear Admiral McAllen. In a fit he attacked his golf cart with a nine-iron. The damned thing somehow ran him over.” She’s struggling not to laugh and Len’s biting his own lip.

“He’s not--?”

Chapel shakes her head. “No, Sir. He’s fine. Just a few contusions and a twisted ankle. But he’s squawking like he stepped on an IED. Goddamned baby.” She hisses that last under her breath. Chapel’s not fond of leaders who casually throw their men into things they wouldn’t do themselves. Fitzhugh might be career military, but he’s a desk jockey, has never served in theater. Her disdain for him is well known to Len and he agrees. But he knows better than to ever voice it.

“Lieutenant,” he cautions as they step through the double-doors of the ER. He hears the siren blaring, readies himself for the worst.

“Sorry, Sir.” Chapel salutes, totally unrepentant, and then she’s off to ready a room, practically reading his mind as Len races to meet the ambulance.

~~*~~

Len grits his teeth, takes a deep breath, and steps back into the room, the x-rays held in front of his chest. It won’t protect him from what’s likely to come, but he needs the shielding.

Not that there is anything in the world that could protect him from the pain he’s still feeling. When he saw familiar blond hair and a too familiar body splayed on that stretcher, he’d literally staggered. He should have turned around and handed Jim over to anyone else but he didn’t. And now, he has to face him.

Jim’s lying on the bed, too still, but all the monitors reassure Len. He’s alive. And damned lucky to be.

Jim doesn’t open his eyes, and he’s got a goofy smile on his face. Len bets the EMTs overdid the morphine, but then who but him would know how sensitive Jim is to all drugs? Thank goodness they skipped anything with codeine in it!

“That you, doc?” Jim’s near slurring his words and he still hasn’t opened his eyes. Len’s actually relieved that he hasn’t and he takes the chance to press a hand to Jim’s forehead. It’s completely unnecessary, but Len touches, he always has and he needs this reassurance.

“You should know… the room’s spinning and I’m higher than a kite.” Then Jim giggles.

“Shit!” Len barks out before he considers the consequences.

Jim’s eyes flutter open and the pupils are blown wide. His brow creases, but he leans into the touch. “Mmmm… now I know I’m on the good drugs,” he mumbles, not really making sense.

“Jim,” he says, softly, reluctant to break the contact.

“Shhhh, I’m having a good dream,” he shushes Len.

And, fuck, Len doesn’t want to do this. But he’s a doctor and Jim’s not his. “Captain Kirk, I need your full attention.” Len uses the tone that keeps his staff in line and it finally breaks through the drug-fueled haze Jim’s in.

“Fuck!” Jim hisses and pulls away, only to cry out as his abraded skin rubs on the bed.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m the attending physician when you were brought in.”

“No.”

“No?” Len pulls back and glares. “Goddammit! Don’t be stupid! I’m—”

Jim’s eyes are still heavy-lidded, but there’s a crystalline fire within them. “You’re a homophobic asshole and I’m openly gay. I want another doctor. Now.”

“Jim?”

“Major, I know my rights. I’m capable of withholding consent.” Jim tries to sit up, his muscles are uncoordinated and he gets tangled in the IV line.

“What the fuck!” Len spits out as he reaches to help Jim.

“No!” Jim nearly growls. “I demand another physician or I’m walking out of here.”

“You wouldn’t get four steps,” Len argues, but he’s backing away, hands up. He, of anyone, knows better than to push Jim when he’s like this. “Fine!”

The curtain is pulled aside and Chapel steps in. “Something wrong, Major?”

Len doesn’t answer. Jim does. “I demand another physician!”

“Jim Kirk? What in the hell is going on?” Chapel moves to Jim’s side, detangling his IV, and pushing him back to the bed. “Now you lie down and tell me what nonsense you’re spouting, flyboy.”

Chapel’s teasing, but it’s familiar and Jim settles, calms.

His eyes flick over Chapel’s shoulders to Len, before they slide away. “He’s a homophobe. I need another doctor.”

Chapel blinks, but she doesn’t miss a beat. “Major McCoy is a professional, Jim. He’s the best—”

“I’ll tell you what I told him. I get another doc or I’m out of here.” The determined finality in Jim’s voice hits Len hard, but he’s had lots of practice hiding his feelings. Jim’s thick-headed enough to ignore his own safety, but Len’s not. Never that.

Chapel glances over her shoulder at Len. He meets her confused gaze and straightens, nodding before he turns and walks away. Len hands Corporal Boyce Jim’s chart after a brief explanation. As he steps into Fitzhugh’s room, he swallows the pain. He’d been wrong -- a pissy Brigadier General’s far easier to deal with than Jim right now.

~~*~~

After Jim’s refusal to be treated by Len, Chapel won’t let the matter lie. She doesn’t believe Len’s a homophobe, thinks she knows better and she’s continually on Len about it. Wants details. What she really wants is for it to be fixed, for Len to be less caustic, more human again. For him to smile again.

But the confrontation late one night doesn’t sit right with him. Jim’s been gone for months, could _die_ and Len is stuck, feet mired in quick sand, heart desiccated and turned to dust. He doesn’t have the energy for her prying and Chapel’s concern is the last straw. He doesn’t deserve her compassion and he blows up, pushes away the last person in his life that gave a damn. It’s a dick move, and he should at least apologize and talk to her, tell her the truth. But he can’t. He cut all ties to that past and he’s determined to never look back.

Life settles into a bleak routine, and Len buries himself in work, adds in a working partnership with the local medical school, and he gets by. One foot in front of the other. It’s not really living, but he gets two long weekends a month with Joanna and he ignores the rest. Tells himself it doesn’t matter.

~~*~~

His phone wakes Len and he’s picking up, answering before he’s really awake, automatically sitting up, trying to get his brain engaged. “’lo?” he mumbles into his cell.

“Len?”

Len wavers, confused for a moment, then flops back to the bed. Whoever this is and whatever it’s about isn’t military. It’s not work.

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“Len, it’s me. Clay.”

Clay Treadway, childhood friend, best friend through high school, close enough that Len can remember a fumbling hand job after a long summer’s day of hanging out at Len’s family pond. Most teen boys, even in Georgia, can’t escape their hormones, it’s just that in that instant Len had learned that another cock was far more arousing and hit him harder than Joce’s perky breasts and damp folds. But that was an eternity ago, another life, and now Clay’s married to Len’s ex and Len has barely spoken to Clay in years. Clay’s nothing but a well trained lap dog, broken to Joce’s command. Just the way she likes it.

“What the hell do you want, Clay? I’ve only been off shift for a few hours. Some of us have to work for a living,” he growls before it dawns on him that his daughter might be hurt. “Wait! Is Jo-Jo okay?”

And suddenly his heart’s racing and he can’t breathe. Something’s happened to his daughter.

“Joanna is fine, Len. This isn’t about that.”

“Then what? If it’s not an emergency, call me back after I’ve slept for a few hours.”

He’s reaching to hang up, when Clay calls out, “Len, please? Hear me out.”

There’s a desperate, pleading tone in his voice and, despite the anger and betrayal between them, Len gives in. “Make it quick, Treadway,” he snaps.

“It’s Jocie. She’s cheating on me, Len.”

Len flops back to the bed, has to turn his face into the pillow to keep from laughing in Clay’s ear. Serves the bastard right. What the hell does he expect?

“I’m not your friend, Treadway. I’m no lawyer, why the fuck are you telling me this at oh-dark-thirty?” Luckily, his voice comes out more tired than bitter.

“We used to be friends, Len. I trust you and you know Joce. Know how this goes. I’m just… I’m at a loss and didn’t have anywhere else to turn.”

Len barks out a harsh laugh. Of course, Clay can’t talk to anyone in Atlanta. It’ll be splashed over the society pages by morning. Jocelyn has cuckolded another one. But Clay won’t have the sympathy of being military. There’d be no softening of the blow because he is away from home most of the time. No. The rumors would be that he just can’t satisfy the wife he stole. Obviously, there is something wrong with his plumbing. They’ve been married three years now and Joce still isn’t pregnant, though she desperately wants another child. Len feels a small pang of sympathy, but he shuts it down.

Clay doesn’t seem surprised that Len is laughing at him. “If you help me, Len, I’ll help you.”

“Look, Clay. I don’t know what possessed you to call me of all people, and I’m not gonna lie and tell you that I don’t see this as just exactly what you deserve, but I will tell you this… get a lawyer. The best one you can afford and make damned sure _she_ has tangled with Jocelyn before. Anything else and you’re doomed.”

“This bastard isn’t the first. I’ve got the goods on her… pictures, phone logs, the whole deal. But this is different…”

Len sighs. Can’t figure out why he’s listening to this. “And just what do you want me to do?”

“She’s into some pretty kinky things, Len. _Abnormal_ things. Things far worse than a pretty flyboy… things that could get a custody agreement flipped.” Clay’s voice loses all softness. It’s hard and calculating, shrewd. This isn’t a man that’s hurt. He’s out for blood.

Len stiffens and jerks up. How the hell had Clay…? He’s breaking out in a cold sweat, mind racing as he wonders what the hell Joce has gotten herself into. Even more he wonders just what the hell Clay wants from him. He already feels dirty just from Clay’s insinuation, but his voice is calm when he replies, “Out with it Clay. Quit pussy footin’ around.”

When Len finally clicks the phone off, he’s a bundle of nerves, too agitated to sleep. Instead, he paces and tries to make sense of his conflicted emotions. Clay’s asking him to blackmail his ex. And, after everything Jocelyn has done to him, he should do just that. He scrolls through the few photos now littering his phone, of Joce in skimpy black leather bits, bound on her knees, looking up at a man and a woman. The three of them are beautiful, look good together, and, even if the picture is blurry, Joce looks happy.

Len doesn’t give a rat’s ass if Joce is into BDSM, but Clay is offering him Joanna, is handing him the key to maybe putting his life back together. Still, it feels wrong to use Joce’s proclivities against her, no matter all that she’d done. She _is_ the mother of his daughter and it’d be more than a bit hypocritical of him.

By the time dawn breaks, Len’s no closer to a decision. He’s mentally wrung out so goes for a good, long run to clear his head.

~~*~~

After a couple of near sleepless nights, Len is running in circles, getting nowhere, except closer to an ulcer. He’s never been so conflicted before, not even when it came to leaving Jim. That had been almost easy in comparison since he’d convinced himself that he was doing it for Jim. That was for the best, but this? Can he look himself in the mirror if he resorts to blackmail?

Against his better judgment, Len makes an appointment with his lawyer. He’s got to have some advice that he can trust, got to unburden his conscience before he goes mad yo-yo’ing between hope and guilt.

Nyota is as efficient as ever, her uniform crisp and perfect, unable to conceal the curves and trim figure of her petite form. She’s still fierce and gives him a hard hug once the door closes behind him. He grips her back but doesn’t allow himself to hold on too long. Her husband would gut him for starters, and besides, she’s never been who he wants. And she knows it, has all along. The only person besides Jim that he’s confided the truth in.

The thing about Nyota is that she’s never sugar-coated the facts. She’s always explained in excruciating detail just why Len had been so screwed when it came to getting custody of his daughter. Still, she has been his tireless advocate and fared better than anyone against Jocelyn’s law firm, securing Len’s current agreement.

But this time, she is struck speechless. She doesn’t say it, just sits quiet for a few minutes as she flips through the pictures. When she looks up at Len, he knows he did the right thing coming here. She cocks her head at him and places her delicate hands over his cellphone. It’s like she doesn’t want to see the photos any longer.

“Tell me about Jim, Leonard. What happened?”

Her complete non-sequiter throws him for a loop and he’s spilling the beans before he realizes it. The words flow out in a torrent and he tells her _everything_. His throat is raw and his eyes prick, but he feels better. Not good. He’s not convinced that’s even possible anymore. He’ll settle for better.

She’s shaking her head at him, and are there tears glistening in those dark eyes?

“Oh, Leonard,” she sighs.

And he has no idea what to say, how to react. He has put that behind him. Jim is firmly in his past. But if that’s true, why does Nyota’s empathy create a lump in his throat and an ache in his gut?

He denies that there’s a problem, goes so far as to point out that Jim’s moved on, and there must be something in his voice, or his eyes, because she stops pressing, just gets down to business. The business of whether or not he blackmails his ex-wife.

~~*~~

It’s a strangely quiet ending to years of unrest and insecurity. Jocelyn capitulates without Len threatening. They have an honest to god adult conversation for the first time in more years than he can count. Whoever the mystery man that Joce bends for, he’s good for her. She actually smiles and hugs Len after signing a very detailed and binding custody agreement. One that solidifies the ground under Len’s feet. He can’t lose Joanna now.

Once Jocelyn walks out the door, Len slumps and drops back into his chair. His legs feel like rubber as the tension leaves in a rush. Nyota steps behind him and begins to massage his shoulders. He looks up and gets a warm smile in return.

“It’s over,” he rasps out, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Nyota. I-I couldn’t have done it without you, couldn’t have held it together throughout this.”

Her fingers never stop their methodical motions, just as she wore Jocelyn down, she’s eroding the knots and kinks he’s been carrying for far too long. There had been so much at stake, so much he could have lost… Even now he can’t believe the months of negotiations are concluded and ended in his favor for once.

“I’m sorry that it took some pretty nasty tricks by Clay to get Jocelyn to see sense. Now what are you going to do?”

The question catches him off guard, he hasn’t actually thought past this moment. Didn’t want to get his hopes up, so there’s nothing beyond the here and now. He shrugs. “The same?”

That is the wrong answer. Nyota’s nails dig in and then he’s being turned, his chair swiveling around so fast, he jerks away from Nyota’s blazing gaze. “The same? You’ve just gained joint custody, Len. And nothing will take that away from you. We made sure of it! So what the hell are you waiting for?”

Len plays dumb, pretends he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. He pushed Jim away, gave that life up, and, he knows for a fact, that Jim’s moved on. Gary Mitchell wasn’t just a one-night stand or simple rebound, or at least the two poster boys for “the post-DADT military” sure seem too cozy for that.

It takes some convincing and, finally, agreeing to have dinner with her and Spock before she lets him escape.

After that he slowly comes out of his self-enforced exile. Chapel forgives him, she already had in reality, but he needs to apologize, to say the words, and needs to hear them in return. A week later and he can actually smile again. He still goes home to an empty apartment and misses Jim like his right hand, but nothing has changed, not that, so this is his life, such as it is, and he accepts it. His dreams might say different, but he pretends not to remember them when he wakes. He’s become quite skilled at lying to himself.

~~*~~

Len finally catches up to his CO, Philip Boyce, and calls out, “Phil!” forcing him to stop. “Dammit, man! We’ve traipsed from one end of this town to another and I’m parched. You can hike up to the top of the ruins if you want, but I’m having a drink.”  
Phil chuckles and slaps him on the arm. “Fine, Len. I’ll meet you back at the hotel for dinner.”

“What is the hurry, anyway? We have three more days. Surely you don’t have to do it all on the first one?”

Phil just shakes his head. “Something always comes up at these conferences, Len. Always. And then I end up flying home having seen nothing but the airport and the inside of my hotel room. I’m taking no chances this time.”

Len can relate to Phil’s words. Phil’s the hottest surgeon in the Air Force. He’s doesn’t get time off. It was a miracle that they were both allowed to attend the conference. “Well, go on then. This pub looks as good as the next.”

“Later, Len.”

Len finds himself staring after his boss and quickly catches himself. Phil’s a damned attractive man, but he’s straight and _married_ and Len needs to quit thinking like that. He obviously needs to get laid. Trouble is, his German is shit and he doesn’t want to risk going to the wrong place and getting caught. But, fuck, is he horny.

 _’Goddammit!’_

The pub is dark and close under old, low-beamed ceilings, with lots of mis-matched cocktail tables and too few stools. The crowd is fairly quiet, most of the attention on the soccer match on a couple of screens. There’s more than a few uniformed men mingling with civilians and English seems to predominate from the snatches of conversation he hears as he heads to an open place at the bar.

The bartender immediately asks, “What will you have?” in accented, but perfect English.

One eyebrow goes up and Len shakes his head. “What gave me away?”

“The bewildered look on your face,” she answers, smiling.

He sits on the bar stool, completely oblivious to the way the crowd at his back has gone silent. “How about a beer… a lager maybe? Nothing too dark, darlin’.” He doesn’t mean to let that slip, but she has a nice smile and it’s a relief to be able to simply order a beer without having to look up every word in a dictionary.

She sets a glass before him and eyes the men over his shoulder. Something sets the hairs on the back of his neck on end and he turns, all breath leaving him at the sheer impossibility standing behind him.

James T. Kirk.

Logically, he knows that Heidelberg is a destination for troops on leave, but what are the odds that Jim would be on leave at the same time Len’s here for a three-day conference _and_ drinking in the same bar? Spock could tell him, of that he was certain.

“Hey, Doc!” Sulu steps in between them and Len’s automatically reacting in greeting, his mouth moving, words coming out, but he’s not even sure what he’s saying, can’t hear his own voice over the thundering of his pulse in his ears and the surety that he’s going to pass out from oxygen deprivation if he can’t take a breath soon.

Thank god Scotty doesn’t notice he’s turning blue, but just grabs his outstretched hand and begins pumping it while slapping him on the back. He’s breathing again, but now he’s certain he’s going to hyperventilate. There’s no way this is not just another dream. His life doesn’t work like this.

But it isn’t a dream, because even his sub-conscious isn’t cruel enough to create that proprietary hand splaying wide on Jim’s back. “Gary?” he greets, lying through his false smile. “What are the odds of this?”

Chekov bumps Sulu aside and nudges Len’s attention away from Mitchell and the way that Jim’s hanging back, his blue eyes unreadable. “Odds of meeting up? They’re not as high as you’d think, Sir. We’re all Air Force and this is the best place for leave closest to base…”

“But I’m not on leave, kid. Boyce and I are here for a conference.”

Chekov steps back and Len can see the gears working. He has to laugh because otherwise he’d cry. He misses these reckless idiots, especially the one that hasn’t said a word to him, the one who’s still the most beautiful man Len’s ever seen. Fortunately, Jim’s silence is lost amongst the rest of the chatter, and only Mitchell seems to have a problem with Len. It’s not visible or vocal to anyone but him, but he’s not imagining the silver daggers Gary’s sending his way.

Scotty insists on buying a round of Scotch and Chekov insists on vodka and before Len knows it, he’s staggeringly drunk. Sadly enough, it’s not Jim’s arms that help him back to his room.

He wakes half-clothed and splayed on the top of the covers, his mouth tasting of nicotine. Guess he’d taken them up on the cigarettes, too. _’Shit!’_

The clock’s green numerals determinedly inform him that it’s only two in the morning. So what the hell is he doing awake? The message light is blinking and he’s not going back to sleep anytime soon, so he picks it up, thinking it is Phil, but he remembers, or thinks it’s a memory, calling Phil to cancel dinner. So, who?

The voice on the other line breathes for a moment, then the message ends. Len’s heart leaps into his throat. That had to be Jim. Didn’t it?

Len can’t sleep after that. He’s still drunk and too uncoordinated to pace, but his mind’s racing, sticking on that beautiful blue-eyed man. Gary hadn’t been happy to see Len and Jim had barely acknowledged his presence, his face carefully schooled, perfectly indifferent. Len can’t get that image out of his head, but there’s nothing he can do. This is his choice, this life that is far too empty even when surrounded by old friends.

Lying abed isn’t helping and Len forces himself up and into the bathroom. The hotel is small with lots of ‘character’, which basically means that it’s ancient, the electricity and running water as well as the tiny bathroom all late additions, definitely not original. But the shower has plentiful hot water in the middle of the night and the water pressure’s good enough that it pounds against his shoulders and neck, easing the tension that has not left in nearly a year.

The alcohol is still coursing through his veins, but he feels better, clear-headed after the shower. He sits on the bed, leaning against the headboard and trying to puzzle out what exactly he wants, even if it’s just a fantasy. He wishes he could apologize to Jim, to have him understand why he’d done what he had.

He can’t do any of that, not when Jim won’t see him, won’t even consider talking to him. But they’re both in Heidelberg, a long way from home, and they might never see each other again. Now would be the perfect opportunity to clear the air. He glances to the nightstand where he’d dumped the contents of his pockets to the little card with Scotty’s number on it. Scotty won’t rat him out, but he’ll want to know exactly why Len needs Jim’s info. Chekov is out of the question. The kid can’t keep a secret to save his soul.

Sulu.

Sulu and Jim are close, both cocky pilots, but each with the skill to back up that arrogance. Sulu will grill Len, try to convince him that he’s better off, they’re _both_ better off leaving the past where it belongs… behind them. But Sulu will also be the first to encourage Len and Jim to talk, to get closure with this so that they can move on. Len doesn’t want to move on, but it seems like Jim already has.

And that makes him waver. He closes his eyes and thinks of Jim, drifts off to memories of the first time he laid eyes on Jim, so incredibly young, too full of himself, cocky and arrogant, but there’d been something behind the smirk, something impossibly vulnerable in those incandescent blue eyes. Len dreams of what was, his heart stuttering with all he’d given up.

~~*~~

Len’s day starts off on the wrong foot, he spills his coffee on his shirt and ends up giving his presentation in a slightly damp, slightly coffee-scented uniform. The hall is quiet and he can’t tell if the audience is bored to tears or disbelieving and he is about to end their misery when a man in the front row stands and proceeds to rant on American military imperialism couched as ‘feedback’ on Len’s revolutionary technique.

It takes two burly security guards, not MP’s since this is a civilian conference, to escort the man from the hall before the shouting dies down and Len can speak again. It’s barely noon and he’s exhausted. Phil drags him to a tiny restaurant a few blocks away and Len slowly recovers as Phil regales him with his own horror stories which make this seem mild in comparison. And Len can finally laugh about it.

The afternoon is better, but dull, with some of the most monotone speakers he’s ever heard. Len fidgets, his mind wandering. In a fit of desperation, he texts Sulu, then regrets it. When there’s no reply, he’s unsure if he’s relieved or deeply saddened.

Two hours later, his phone buzzes and he nearly jumps out of his chair. It’s Jim’s number and a long list of reasons why Len should not call him. But the closing words are warm, compassionate, leaving Len at a loss. Sulu’s leaving it to his discretion, but Len’s never been logical about Jim and even this far removed from him, he’s still not.

Luckily for Len, Phil’s about to speak. Len turns his phone off, delaying the decision.

~~*~~

Phil meets a few old friends and invites Len out for drinks with them, but Len declines. He has two nights and then he leaves Germany and all possibility of speaking to Jim. His stomach’s in knots and he needs to figure his shit out.

The mini-bar is tempting, but even the hotel bar is cheaper. Besides, Len wants to be sober, needs to be if he’s going to contact Jim. Forgetting that his phone is off, he tosses it on the nightstand as he empties his pockets and then strips. What Len needs is a long, hot shower.

What he gets is a short, tepid one, not even conducive to wanking.

His skin prickles with goosebumps as he dries off. He’s no closer to a decision, needs a diversion. After tugging on an ancient pair of sweats and a faded tee, he drops to the lumpy chair and opens his laptop, firing up e-mail first. As diversions go, it sucks and Len stupidly begins to google gay bars in the area.

There’s a knock at the door and his laptop nearly tips off his legs when he startles. Standing, he sets it on the small side table and strides to the door. He’s confused at first, wondering who is stopping by without calling. He snags his phone, looks to see if he missed a message and realizes that it’s still off. He relaxes. It’s likely Phil inviting him to dinner. He opens the door and it’s not Phil standing there.

Jim shoves past Len, doesn’t wait for an invitation before he’s striding in. Len gapes, his feet are rooted to the spot and he just blinks as Jim paces.

“Shut the damned door, McCoy,” Jim hisses.

Len shakes himself and closes the door, still at a loss. His plans, all his carefully rehearsed words, had not included an irate Jim pacing in his room. But before Len can speak, Jim turns on him, eyes blazing.

“Look, I get it. You can’t hit the gay bars, don’t dare pick up a rent boy in case someone will see you, but dinner with an old friend? That’s a _great_ cover. No one would suspect a thing. I just can’t believe you have the nerve to pull shit like this with me.”

Anger flashes through Len and he blurts out before he can stop himself, “Goddammit, Jim! Nice to know you think so _highly_ of me! You know me better than that! I wouldn’t do that to you!”

“I know you?” Jim’s eyes are narrowed and he’s sneering, the curl of his lip marring that beautiful face. “That’s rich, McCoy.” He gives a snort and shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have asked that of Hikaru. He had no right to give you my number. We’re done, McCoy, been done for a long time, so just take your steel-lined closet and stay the fuck out of my life!”

Jim runs out of steam and Len shifts, leans further against the door. Len’s not letting him leave without saying his piece. Steadying himself, but not moving closer, he swallows and speaks, “That’s not what this is about. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I truly believed that you’d be better off without me.” He can’t bring himself to say the rest, but fuck, does he miss Jim every single fucking day.

“Bullshit!”

Len shrugs, doesn’t let himself get angry. Jim has a right to be, and Len has to tread carefully here. “I just wanted to talk.”

Jim stalks closer and Len can’t keep his eyes still, can’t begin to fight the way they linger over every hard angle of him. He’s a bit thinner, muscles even more defined, his white tee clinging to sculpted ridges from his pecs on down. The jeans are faded, snug but not too tight. They hug his thighs, accentuate the length of his legs and turn his ass from merely great to mouth-watering perfection.

“Talk? That’s rich.” Jim barks out a harsh, humorless laugh. “You’re devouring me with your eyes and your fuckin’ laptop is open to gay bars, McCoy. Lie to yourself, but don’t you dare lie to me!”

Jim stops moving. He crosses his arms over his chest, the stance only serving to make his biceps larger. Len’s lost his mind, can’t think for the way his breath jitters and heart flutters. But Jim’s pissed. His eyes are cobalt laser blue, piercing cold flame and Len knows better than to argue. He does. It’s his mouth that gets him into trouble. Always has.

“Goddammit, Jim! What do you want me to say? You’ve already tried and convicted me--” He barely catches himself, manages to rein his words in.

“Nothing,” Jim spits. “I don’t want you to say a thing… just leave me the fuck alone!”

A lightbulb goes on as he’s observing Jim, clearly seeing one of Jim’s tells. Len realizes one thing with crystalline clarity: Jim’s lying through his teeth.

Len licks his lips and pushes away from the door, his eyes unblinking as he stalks forward. “Then why’re you here, kid?”

Jim instinctively backs up, eyes widening and breath stuttering. He catches himself and stops just as his legs connect with the bed. “What?”

He glances over his shoulder, but turns back quickly. “I already told you!”

Len stops just out of arm’s reach and he has to fight to keep his arms at his side. “You told me to leave you the fuck alone, but I didn’t call you. And last I checked, it was you that came to see _me_.”

Jim’s hands bunch into fists and his whole body tenses as his eyes narrow. Len knows better than to corner Jim, knows that this is no game that they’re suddenly playing. The problem is that he can’t stop himself, doesn’t want to.

“So why are you _really_ here, Jim? Somehow I doubt that your keeper would be happy about it. Mitchell seems like the possessive type. The kind that prefers you on your knees—”

Len should have kept his mouth shut. Jim’s on him in a heartbeat, one fist landing square across Len’s jaw, snapping his head back, the other connecting with his gut, knocking the wind out of him and doubling him over. Len does the only thing he can, throws himself forward, butting Jim backward. They end up wrestling on the bed, Jim trying to throw more punches and Len trying to hold him too close for his fists to have any strength when they land.

It doesn’t take long, the outcome a foregone conclusion, even if Len’s a bit bigger than Jim. He’s no match for Jim’s muscle and raw fighting ability and quickly ends up sprawled on the bed. Len’s flat on his back with Jim sitting on his stomach, one fist upraised, the other pressing into his sternum. This isn’t how Len had imagined their talk would go, but he’ll take what he can get and at least Jim pauses, body too still, only his chest moving.

“You feel better?” Len asks. He tries to smile, but his jaw hurts already and Jim’s _heavy._

Jim blinks, shakes his head and looks around before he ducks his head and takes a long, slow breath in. He’s shifting, up onto his knees, giving Len room to suck in a lungful of air, but he doesn’t climb off. That hand on his sternum is still there, a warm, heavy weight right over Len’s heart.

Jim still hasn’t answered and Len can’t stand the weighted silence, so he lets his mouth lead again. This time, hopefully, with better results.

“I’m sorry, Jim. I shouldn’t have asked Sulu for your number, should have left well enough alone…” He pauses, takes a steadying breath before continuing, his eyes unable to meet Jim’s as he talks. “I’ve missed you… so fuckin’ much. Every damned day, I regret pushing you away. I swore it was best for you, and I wish I hadn’t done it, that I’d been stronger somehow… more _deserving_ of you.”

He’s practically babbling, unable to stop talking now that he’s started and Jim’s looking at him with those infernal eyes of his.

“I locked it all away, my feelings, my hopes, everything. I’d playacted for so long, I thought I could go back to it, could just step back into that skin… I failed, was miserable, more miserable than I’d ever been before. I guess it’s true what they say… you can’t miss something you’ve never had, but woe be to the one it’s taken from.

“And I’d had you, knew what it was like to wake up next to someone, finally felt that I had a chance at happiness and going back to having nothing…” he sighed. “When I saw you, I just wanted to tell you, to let you know what has happened and how much you had a hand in it, how much my life has changed all because of you.”

“Bones—” Jim’s voice is a choked whisper and he looks stricken.

This isn’t the way to go about this. Len’s only hurting them both, but he has to get it all out. Jim deserves the whole truth.

“I have joint custody, Jim. Joanna’s mine and Jocelyn’s not going to take her away from me.” He falters as Jim’s face shutters. “I love you, shouldn’t have given up on us. Should have trusted you, but I was scared, so fuckin’ scared, Jim. First you damn near _died_ and then Joce… my baby girl is everything to me… but I learned just how little my life means without you. I don’t have a right to ask anything of you. I’m not. I just needed to tell you, to let you know—”

Len doesn’t even realize that he’s crying, that the growing ache in his chest has nothing to do with Jim’s weight. He’s saying the words to Jim, but not _his_ Jim. He gave up all rights to call Jim that and fuck but it hurts.

“Shit!” Len swipes at his eyes, turning his head away. “This was a bad idea,” he growls to hide the growing quaver in his voice, the way he can’t catch his breath as he struggles. “Get off me, goddammit!”

“No.”

Len twists his torso, or tries to, but Jim tightens his thighs, knees pushing into Len’s hips. He jerks his head back, angry now, humiliation burning through him. “You’ve had your revenge, gotten in your punches… didn’t think you were a cruel man, Jim. So get off me and get the fuck out!”

But Jim, contrary bastard that he is, doesn’t get up. Instead he leans forward, hands pressing into Len’s forearms, pinning him. He’s shaking his head, eyes still unreadable.

“You’re not the only one that gets to say their piece, Bones.”

Len’s not sure how to take that nickname, not now, not when he’s broken by his own hand, shattered with no hope of being pieced back together, but he can’t look away. He has no clue what Jim wants from him, what more he can say or give, so he lies there, body flashing between stiff-necked anger and breath-stealing hope.

“I was pissed at you. So angry that you decided what was right for us without asking me. That anger was all I had for the longest time and I didn’t want to let it go.” He stops on a soft sigh. “But I couldn’t hold onto it. Not in the face of war, not in the face of pushing away everyone around me. And, as much as you don’t like Gary, he’s been good to me. He didn’t deserve my anger. He helped me work through it, move past it.”

“Good for you, kid,” Len squeezes out.

Jim shakes his head. “Not really. I was convinced that I was over you. Until you walked into that damned pub.”

Len blinks up at Jim. He couldn’t be saying what Len thought he was saying.

“Just--fuck, Bones. You walked in and immediately began flirting with the bartender in that voice of yours, all Southern charm and sheepish smiles. I took one look at Gary and the game was up.”

“What? Why?”

Jim shrugs, then leans in closer. The shifting puts friction in places that Len would rather stay unnoticed. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you. It was obvious that I wasn’t as over you as I thought.”

“Jim,” Len starts, his voice a breathless whisper. He’s sure his heart has stopped beating. He tugs one wrist free and reaches up to cup Jim’s cheek.

They’re both quiet, the moment stretching, every muscle in Len’s body is taut, tense as he waits. Jim has to be the one to make the move because Len’s not sure his heart can take the possibility that this isn’t what he thinks it is.

“What do we do now, Len?”

Their eyes lock and Len’s drowning in the emotion in Jim’s eyes, so much hurt, fear, and raw hope burning in those brilliant blues.

Jim’s waiting for him and Len’s wondering what he’d done to deserve this second chance.

He arches up, brushes their lips together, a bare wisp of touch. “We do whatever you want, Jim. It’s your call.”

Jim kisses him after that. It starts slow, almost chaste, but for the near whimper in the back of Len’s throat. He’s certain Jim makes a pained noise as their tongues meet, but then Len pulls his other arm free and wraps both around Jim, clinging tightly. There’s no way he’s letting him go now.

After that, things get out of hand, go from sweet longing, so much emotion breaking over them that Len’s crying with it, tears sliding down his cheeks as he tastes Jim once again. If Jim’s cheeks are wet as well, Len ignores it and grips Jim even tighter.

The kisses turn frantic, near violent, biting and hard, making Len groan. He nips at Jim’s skin, latches onto his neck, visibly marking him. Jim shudders and moans and Len can’t stop. He tangles their legs and then they’re rolling, until he pins Jim, grinds their clothed cocks, exquisite torture and sensation. They’re clinging, rutting together until they break.

Time slows almost like a movie. Len fights to see Jim, to watch what he has only dreamt about. Jim shatters, coming hard with a full body tremor and a silent cry. It’s beautiful and terrible, the depth of pain in Jim’s eyes nearly blunts Len’s desire, but he’s too close, his body beyond the point of no return and the world whites out, his heart stopping for an instant.

He shudders, then collapses, mostly onto Jim. Even with no higher brain function, Len is not letting Jim out of his grasp again.

Ever.


End file.
